


i'm dreamin'

by aarobron



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/aarobron
Summary: “Everything okay?” The younger man asks, voice lilting in surprise as Robert gathers him into a hug.“Everything’s perfect.” He whispers, and pulls back a bit to kiss Aaron softly, sweetly.+++A glimpse into Robert's first Christmas with the Dingles!





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my secret santa gift for 3ofme
> 
> merry christmas xo

Robert’s always thought that most families use the festive season as a way to relax, to drink and eat and laugh – that’s all the Sugdens did: Jack in his armchair with a can in his hand and enough stashed down the side that he didn’t have to get up for at least two hours, Sarah flitting about the kitchen in a floral apron smeared with flour and smelling like gravy, Victoria in the corner with an old, rickety dolls house, mumbling to herself as she played, and Robert and Andy sitting on the carpet in front of the telly with a deck of cards between them, actually managing to have a good time for once.

Robert’s always known Christmas to be peaceful, for spending quality time with family you can’t stand the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year, for tacky films and cheesy music: it was always like that, every year without fail, some ridiculously calming tradition that made him feel _safe_.

When he thinks about it, really, the beginning of the end probably started with the Whites. For them, festivities were all about clinking champagne glasses, nimble fingers stealing up vol-au-vents, golden trinkets being gifted to acquaintances without a second thought. For them, it was about parties, socialites showing off their house on the hill to other socialites, about proving status and making connections, and some kind of unspoken competition about who has the classiest, sparkliest trees.

For eleven years, his Christmases have been nothing. The first Christmas he left was the worst, he thinks. Recently, he’s listed them, ranked them from best to worse – even if the best wasn’t good at all. But the first, god, it was difficult and lonely; in a shitty flat in some small town he doesn’t care to remember the name of. The walls were paper thin, and from the left side and the right side and upstairs and downstairs he could hear jolly music and laughter and just pure _happiness_ and it made him feel sick.

His mind was dark and his insides were blackened, with nostalgia and guilt and misery. His limbs felt like steel, his heart like lead, and the look in his father’s eyes, the one he’d received before he was sent away, it was still stabbing him, hurting him in places he didn’t know existed. He’d sat in front of the TV, the Queen’s speech playing as loud as the cheap second-hand piece of shit could go, trying to drown out the noises as he drowned out his thoughts with an even cheaper bottle of whiskey.

The next few after that had been much of the same, in progressively shittier flats in progressively smaller towns, with progressively jollier music and progressively happier families and progressively cheaper spirits. The only constant from that time had been the Queen, as sad as it sounded. She was always there, at three pm on the dot in garish outfits with a somehow soothing voice. She felt homely, he’d decided, like some kind of grandmother figure he’d lost along the way.

So that was four Christmases he’d lost, four bleak years he’d tried to forget (and mostly succeeded), until he’d realised that actually, he wasn’t the only one that was alone at Christmas. He’d done some half-arsed research, made a mental note of what pubs and bars were actually open on Christmas day and proceeded to spend the hours between twelve and three getting drunk enough that he could be poured into a taxi with some nameless face and spend the rest of the day in bed. It wasn’t healthy, he realises that now, but he wasn’t alone at least – it was probably the only thing that kept him going.

Until he met Chrissie, that was. They’d gotten together at the start of the year, around March, so when she found out he was going to spend that year’s Christmas alone, they were acquainted enough that she insisted he was to spend the day with her family instead. He’d accepted readily enough, even if it was only because a desperate attempt at some normalcy. He’d wanted that familial sense, even if she did have a weird son, an overbearing father and a trashy sister. It was more than he’d had at that time.

But it still felt empty. It didn’t fill him with warmth the way Christmas in Emmerdale did; it just made him feel even more hollow. At least when he was alone he didn’t have to pretend, to keep up a façade and keep his cheeks straining from the false smile. No, Christmas with the Whites was fake. It was false, cold and tedious, but he kept it up because he loved Chrissie (he’d thought), and if that meant dealing with her dysfunctional family and hundreds of fake friends bustling in and out of the house, then he’d deal with it.

His best (or least worst, really) Christmas was last year. He’d been shot, was still recovering, sure, but he was with his proper family at last, with Victoria and Diane and by extension Doug and Adam – even if they didn’t actually like him and were just putting up with him to keep the women happy. Regardless, he had his sister and his step-mum, fussing around and giving him neatly wrapped gifts, and it’d been the closest he’d been to feeling that warmth from the Butler’s Farm days ever since, but it still wasn’t perfect. There was something that was just _off_ , but he couldn’t quite place it.

This year, there was something in his chest, lodged in the place the bullet once was, and it felt a little bit like fear mixed with anticipation. He’d tried to ignore it until he couldn’t, until he’d worked up the courage to meekly ask Victoria what her plans were and whether there was a place for him at the table. She’d huffed out a short laugh before smiling at him knowingly, and he’d insisted that he just missed her cooking. It was a weak excuse, he knew that, especially when she’d shout him for lunch in the pub once a week because she just couldn’t deny him anything when he looked so happy and when he smiled at Aaron like he’d hung the stars (she’d told him those exact words once, a bottle and a half of rosé wine down her neck, and he’d just rolled his eyes but still felt the heat of a blush threatening to pass the collar of his jacket).

But he just didn’t want to _assume_. He knew the Dingles had their own traditions, ones that hadn’t changed for years, and he didn’t want to force his way into that. He knew Liv would be invited – she was family, through some unfortunate sharing of blood, and that gave her a _right_. Robert just happened to be a Dingle’s fiancé, the worst half of the couple, and seventy per cent of Wishing Well Cottage’s family table occupants either flat out ignored him or sneered at him when he walked into a room.

So he’d desperately tried to think up some other plans. Victoria had just given some vague answer that he’d put down to pre-baby brain, his brother was half way across the world on the run (something he still felt guilty about, for bringing the Whites back and for giving both Andy and Chrissie a mutual hatred to bond over), and he hadn’t dared to ask Diane since she’d gone all vigilante and turned her back on him in the process.

He’d managed to ignore it, for a surprisingly long amount of time, actually, and he’d counted it as a win until four days before Christmas, when Aaron had brought home two matching Christmas jumpers (seriously) and presented them with a smile. “I don’t… What?” Robert had asked, eyebrows knitted with confusion as he took in Aaron’s cheek splitting grin and sparkling eyes.

“It’s our first proper Christmas, innit?” The younger man replied, tongue cheekily poking out of the corner of his mouth. “Besides, that colour on you… You don’t know what it does to me.” His voice had dropped an octave, laced with gravel, and he pulled Robert towards him by the collar of his shirt before planting a deep, dirty kiss on his lips.

Robert pulled back slightly, eye’s flitting around Aaron’s face. “Aren’t you spending the day with your family, though?” He’d murmured, fingertips brushing the curve of Aaron’s cheek. “Dingle traditions?”

And Aaron had stepped back, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. “I thought you were coming too?” He sounded strained, slightly panicked, and Robert longed to kiss that look off his face. “Or have you made plans with Vic? Rob, it’s okay, I can tell Lisa. I just assumed-“

“No,” Robert said quickly, closing the gap between them again. This time, the kiss was tender, soft. “No, I’m spending the day with you. If you want me to, I mean. If you’re okay with it.” His heart was thudding, threatening to burst through his ribs, but Aaron just smiled fondly.

“Of course I’m okay with it, idiot,” he teased, pressing another kiss to Robert’s lips. “I wouldn’t spend the day without you.”

And that, as they say, was that.

+++

“Good morning,” Aaron murmurs, a soft smile on his lips. He has that look in his eyes, that look that Robert loves – that look of anticipation, of what’s yet to come. “Merry Christmas.” And then he dips his head to kiss Robert, tongues brushing together gently, teasingly, and the older man groans.

“Certainly is,” He whispers, eyes dropping to Aaron’s lips as he rolls them over, knees bracketing hips. “It’ll be even better after I’m done with you.” He feels mischievous for once, he’s in a good mood and he wants to _share it_ , if you know what he means, and he grins into Aaron’s mouth, fingernails raking his scalp as he tugs his curls. Aaron drops his head back, exposing his neck, and Robert bites the first expanse of skin he finds.

Aaron gasps out a moan and bucks his hips – but only to push Robert off. “We haven’t got time for this,” he says, and Robert takes comfort in the fact he sounds disappointed. “It’s already,” he pauses, to reach over to the bedside table and grab his phone. “It’s already gone nine, Robert! We have to be at Lisa’s for eleven thirty _latest_ and Liv wants to open her presents here, and we need to shower and get ready-”

“You can stop for a breath, you know,” Robert hums, a grin on his face. He loves this Aaron, his Aaron, family man, love of his life. “Besides, I’m sure if we share a shower, we’re pulling it back a bit? Maybe even five minutes.” He wiggles his eyebrows in (what he hopes is) a suggestive manner, tightening his knees and smoothly, suavely working on opening Aaron’s mouth beneath his own.

But then the door opens, creaking on its hinges and colliding with the adjacent wall with a resonating _clack_ and Robert pulls himself away, but not entirely off Aaron. “You wish you had five minutes,” Chas says cheerily. She’s blatantly ignoring the fact they’re in a, well, compromising position, so she breezes in the room and pulls the curtains back. Aaron groans and flings an arm over his eyes, but she ignores him too. “If you’re downstairs in fifteen minutes you might be able to salvage some mulled wine and a slice of toast from Charity.” She turns to them once, flashing a wide, pearly grin at them and then leaves as fast as she came.

Robert huffs and rolls off to the side, face mashed into the pillow. “Come on,” Aaron whispers into his ear. He drops kisses in a line down the older man’s shoulder, tongue swiping over smatterings of freckles before he leans back up. “You can get in the shower with me if you’re sneaky.”

Ten minutes later, they’re out of the shower and giggling, shoving at each other like school kids. “Stop dripping all over my shirt!” Robert cries, two fingers pushing Aaron’s head away from his neck. “You’ll ruin it.” It comes out poutier than he means it to, but Aaron’s grinning anyway, darting up to press a sweet kiss against Robert’s cheek.

“Put this on,” The younger man says softly, shoving the jumper at him. When Robert scrunches up his nose at the scratchy material and begins to say something about _…would’ve been cashmere, seriously, do you really think…_ , Aaron leans up to murmur directly into Robert’s ear. “If you do, I’ll make it worth your while.” The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he can feel it, hyperaware of his fiancé all around him, and he closes his eyes as Aaron begins to push his arms through the sleeves of the jumper. After a few minutes, he opens them again, and Aaron leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him, deep and dirty and _more_ as he smoothes out the creases on Robert’s collar.

“Stop!” Liv cries as she enters the room, fingers splayed over her eyes. “This is no time for being disgusting, it’s Christmas. Come _on_ , I have presents to open.” Then she bounds out of the room again, and she’s almost skipping, her plait swinging behind her like a tail. She looks like a puppy, Robert thinks, especially when she’s this excited. It’s kind of perfect – she’s old enough that they don’t have to lie about Father Christmas and all of those fucking reindeer (Robert has never been able to remember all of them. In fact, he can’t even remember how many there _are_ ), but she’s young enough that she’s still excited. He has to remind himself, sometimes, that she actually is a kid, despite all of the shit she’s been through, and how hard she holds herself.

Aaron rolls his eyes but follows his sister anyway, and Robert just– he just watches for a second. He watches Aaron breeze through the room, out of the door and down the hall until he turns with the brightest grin that Robert has ever seen. His insides squeeze, his heart shakes and he’s never been so _in love_ , especially when Aaron asks, “Coming?” like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

+++

It’s when Robert’s stepping over the threshold of Wishing Well Cottage that the fear starts to kick in. He can feel his lungs tightening as he glances at the _entire fucking Dingle family, jesus_ and he has to breathe in a bit deeper. Aaron just glances back at him, offering a small smile and the touch of fingertips. “You alright?” He asks, quiet enough that nobody else can hear him.

“’M fine.” He whispers back, struggling to pull on a smile, so Aaron raises one disbelieving eyebrow before grabbing Robert’s hand and pulling him to an empty corner in the kitchen-cum-living-room-cum-dining-room. It’s probably the only part of the room(s) that is empty, and Robert’s thankful for the small pocket of air it gives. It doesn’t last long, really, when Aaron starts crowding him back against the cupboards, and the hard edge of the work surface is pressing painfully into his lower back. But none of that matters, not when Aaron is smiling gently and nudging their noses together. It’s calming, but it still not enough, and Aaron can tell, judging by the way he pecks Robert’s lips.

“Stick with me,” The younger man whispers, slipping one freezing hand under Robert’s jumper and curling the fingers around his hips. “You’ll be fine.”

Robert breathes out a sigh, pressing their foreheads together while praying that no one’s actively staring at him. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that _at least_ six of the people in this house right now hate me,” He murmurs, lowering his voice so that no one hears. “At least four have wanted to beat me up, and one actually has.”

“Well,” Aaron replies, grinning so hard he bears his teeth. It’s fake, Robert knows that, but he traces the lines around Aaron’s mouth regardless. “If they hated you _that_ much, you wouldn’t have any presents, would you?” And then he pulls away, handing Robert a cheap can of beer (the kind that he’s learned to love, learned to know it as _home_ ) and then just – leaves. He’s on the other side of the room in the blink of an eye, his face shifting into something playful, and Robert knows a challenge when he sees one so he stares innocently back.

But then Lisa rushes over to him, clearly not wanting him to be stood alone. She’s dressed in a soft looking jumper, a Christmas themed apron over the top, dusted with flour and splashings of gravy, and oh shit – he’s having flashbacks, years ago, his mother bustling around the kitchen, whistling, smiling warmly at him and then he’s just sad.

She’s wrapping him in a hug, and he has to crouch a bit to hug her back but he’s genuinely, honestly, so grateful for her maternal instincts that he flushes a bit. She’d been the first one to take him in, to tell him he was _one of the family now_ , and she cared about him. She’d invite him for dinner at least once a week, offered him seconds, cups of tea, another beer, _anything, Robert, really, anything you need_ and he’d loved her immediately. He’d always thought that he didn’t need a mother figure, he’d had two and he’d lost them both, and he was doing okay without it.

But then again, he’d always thought he wouldn’t be sitting at the Dingle’s family table for Christmas. Looking at Lisa, he finally understands why she’s the pinnacle of the Dingles. She’s their rock, their constant – even after Zak had well and truly fucked up, she carried on, holding her head high and powering through. For once in his life, he finds himself a bit jealous of the family.

It’s why he had bought Lisa perfume for Christmas. A branded bottle, the scent floral and motherly and so totally _her_ , he didn’t even think twice when he’d bought it. Even when Aaron had told him that Lisa didn’t expect anything from him, especially not something so expensive, but he’d still told Robert that he was happy he was trying, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your family is my family,” Robert had said, fingertips skimming across Aaron’s neck.

“Come sit down!” Lisa exclaims, trying to rush him to the table. She sounds so stressed that he instantly stops, a hand on her wrist.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asks, and he can feel Aaron’s, Chas’, Cain’s, Sam’s (at least) eyes on him, and he pushes back the flare of embarrassment. “Let me help with dinner, or at least get you a cup of tea. Maybe something stronger?”

“Oh, love,” She says, and her voice is full of gratitude. “You’re my guest! Sit down. Cain can help me.”

And then Cain’s by his side, muttering, “see what you’ve done now?” and Robert holds his breath, expecting some violence or at least a bit of hostility. But it’s offered with a smile and a friendly clap on the shoulder, and he finally breathes a bit easier as he makes his way over to Aaron.

“Everything okay?” The younger man asks, voice lilting in surprise as Robert gathers him into a hug. He dips his head in a nod, or it might be to nudge his nose along the line of Aaron’s collarbone, to take in his scent – neither of them can really tell.

“Everything’s perfect.” He whispers, and pulls back a bit to kiss Aaron softly, sweetly. They both ignore the catcalls from the room, and actually let it be.

 _This_ , Robert thinks. _This is what family’s all about_.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ aarobron


End file.
